


New Heights

by smolstiel



Series: Brothers Forgotten [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: All the love for Baby, Amnesia, Angst and Fluff, Big Brother Dean, Bros Will Be Bros, Brothers Apart, Canon-Typical Violence, Cursed Dean, Dean is a Little Shit, Dean is a force of nature, Dean is a literal child, Explicit Language, Gen, Giant Dean, Giant/Tiny, Hunter Sam, Hurt Sam Winchester, I mean Dean's literally a giant it doesn't get much more extreme than that, LITERALLY, Mild Gore, Minor Original Character(s), Mistaken Identity, Monster Dean, Sam is not as tall as he thinks he is, See? I Told You There Was Language, Size Difference, So Much Snark, Stargazing, Teasing, The Impala - Freeform, Winchester Bro Hugs, all the snark, extreme size difference, okay a big shit, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-11 11:09:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11713173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolstiel/pseuds/smolstiel
Summary: When Sam Winchester was ten years old, he lost his brother to a witch’s spell. Now he spends his life hunting down the supernatural, hoping to destroy the things that took his family away from him. When he gets captured by one of the monsters he hunts, he expects death. What he gets instead turns his entire world on its head....First Prize in the 2017 Brothers Apart Contest, DeviantArt category





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Brothers Apart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2507237) by [nightmares06](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmares06/pseuds/nightmares06). 



> This story was originally posted on DeviantArt here: http://fav.me/dba8uen You can read the entire story there now. Or, you can always wait for it to post here. I will try to post once a week or so, but we'll see. 
> 
> This was my first full-length story posted on any account.
> 
> EDIT: This story has been fully posted on AO3. A sequel is in the works, and a note will be added here when it is posted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **New Heights**  
>  by smolstiel  
> For nightmares06’s “Brothers Apart” Contest 2017
> 
>  
> 
>  **Summary:** When Sam Winchester was ten years old, he lost his brother to a witch’s spell. Now he spends his life hunting down the supernatural, hoping to destroy the things that took his family away from him. When he gets captured by one of the monsters he hunts, he expects death. What he gets instead turns his entire world on its head. 
> 
> **Spoilers:** S1E1 (not really a spoiler, but ya know...on the off chance you don't watch SPN yet.)
> 
>  **Rating/Warnings:** rated R for language. Includes minor references to gore.
> 
>  **Word Count:** about 13,500
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Supernatural was created by Eric Kripke and belongs to the CW. Brothers Apart was created by nightmares06. This fanfiction was written with her permission. This story is not for sale and was not written for profit. 
> 
> **Permissions:** This story © smolstiel. Writings and art inspired by this story do not need permission to be created or posted. Any writings or art created for profit that is in any way involved with this story requires permission from the author. Do not claim, crosspost, or otherwise plagiarize this story. If you have questions, comments, or concerns, please contact me in the comments. Thanks!

Sam pulled an oaken bow from the back of the Impala, running a hand along its length. Out of all the monsters he could have been going after... He shook his head in incredulity. He wouldn't have believed the story, honestly, if it weren't for Bobby's stern berating over the phone. _Caleb's the one who found it, and you know he ain't one for telling stories. Now quit being a know-it-all, ya idjit!_

He smirked fondly at the memory, but quickly sobered when he returned his attention to the weapon before him. He slung a quiver of poison-tipped silver arrows across his back, figuring at least part of the lore they'd pieced together would have an effect. He wasn't one for archery, but apparently bow and arrow was one of the identified death weapons, in Greek mythology if he remembered correctly. The silver was pure speculation, and the poison a failsafe. Though he would usually handle the research himself, at Bobby's insistence he had relinquished his own idea of a well-placed slash to the throat with a blessed sword. 

After all, killing a giant wasn't exactly his area of expertise. 

He shut the trunk, switching on his flashlight and sweeping the beam across the uneven, leaf-strewn ground, wincing at the crunching of dead foliage accompanying his every step. With a creature that large, its hearing would either be too dim to perceive the small noises Sam was making, or, it would have even sharper senses, magnified along with its size, easily catching wind of him, and taking away any chance at the element of surprise. Knowing his luck, it would likely be the latter option. He resisted the urge to sigh, instead trudging on, with a hunter's light tread, making as little noise as possible. 

When he got to the barbed-wire fence separating the nature preserve from the outside world, he shoved his sweatshirt sleeves over his hands and pulled himself over, landing on the other side with a grunt.

A rustle in the darkness ahead made him freeze for moment, assessing. After a moment, he turned off the flashlight, just in case, and resigned himself to the moonlight that made it between the trees in dancing, silvery patches.

He navigated the the woods for a good half-hour, resisting the temptation to let his guard down at the apparent undisturbed wildlife — tree frogs calling brightly, crickets chirping in reply, the occasional hoot of an owl or squeak of a bat breaking the steady droning in the crisp autumn night. There was something out here, and it was his job to take it out before the death count got any higher. 

He paused in a valley, noting his location. If he needed to make a quick escape, he was going to have to know where the car was parked. As he took stock of the incline before him, he frowned, discovering it was much steeper than any of the hills before it. And...plaid-patterned? 

A slight movement of the shape before him stopped him cold. In a rush of adrenaline he realized exactly what the hill was, and exactly how much trouble he was in. 

All in one motion he swung the bow around, notched an arrow, and aimed at the towering mass. It merely moved up and down again, with a slight rush of warm air. The giant was breathing peacefully. _I caught it sleeping? Really?_ he thought with a spark of hope. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad of a hunt after all.

He stepped back a few paces, and took in the enormous body. It was laying on its side, putting its broad chest front and center in Sam's vision. Farther down he could make out what must have been a pair of building-sized legs, crooked at the knee to avoid a copse of trees. A mix of curiosity and hesitation gripped his stomach as he walked along the giant's length toward the massive face, arrow notched and tense against the bowstring. 

It — _he,_ Sam corrected himself — was fast asleep, countenance still and arm pillowed beneath his head. By virtue of the lack of trees, pale light poured over the clearing, giving the colossus the bleached appearance of an intricately detailed marble figure, complete with the sweep of long lashes against a smattering of freckles.

It was this observation that brought the hunter's attention back to his task. The eye would be the best target. A swift path to the brain, incapacitating at the very least, and instant, painless death if the lore held. Hopefully it would. His father's probable disapproval at the misplaced compassion came before his mind for a moment. He shoved it away impatiently and took careful aim. 

A blur of motion startled him into an early release. He cursed as the arrow buried itself into the giant's hand. _The hand that had just moved to grab him._

The giant yelped at the unexpected pain, his hand drawing back in a movement far too swift for something that magnitude. Sam gaped as the titan sat up, blocking out the moon and most of the stars, and plunging his world into shadow. Reeling at the sheer size, he was barely able to sort through the pure terror rushing through his veins, the insistent urge to run, far and fast. He brought the bow up again, a new arrow on the string, and fired. This time the giant flinched, blocking the projectile with his vast palm. 

**_"Son of a BITCH!"_** he thundered, shaking his hand as if trying to get rid of the sting. 

Sam had just enough time to duck before an oncoming monolith of flesh and bone snatched him high into the air. He cried out, struggling furiously against the massive weight of the fingers wrapping around him, though he knew it was useless. His arms were pinned hopelessly against his side, his entire lower body clenched effortlessly in a immense fist. Even his panting breaths caused his chest to meet unyielding pressure. Fearfully he looked up and found himself pinned by a pair of sharp, green eyes. 

"Dude," the giant said, sounding affronted. "You shot me." 

He blinked, because the lore had clearly stated giants were not the sharpest crayon in the box, and the gaze inspecting him with a slight frown was far too intelligent for his liking. He fought harder in his captor's grip, legs kicking at empty air and arms squirming against their fleshy bonds. 

The giant took absolutely no notice of this. Instead he turned his attention to his other hand and carefully plucked each arrow from the bloom of red they caused. Sam swallowed as he realized they were no more than pinpricks. He was pretty sure even the _fingers_ were taller than his whole body. 

His heart jumped into his throat as the giant returned his intense regard to his capture. He smirked, and on a face the size of a house, it was too wide, too tall, too lopsided, too wrong. "What's up with the Legolas impression?" he asked, eyeing the quiver of arrows slung across Sam's back. 

He didn't answer, still scrabbling against the inside of the giant's fist. Desperation was beginning to claw at his throat. 

The giant's gaze dropped to the ground, where the bow had fallen in the struggle. He pinched it between thumb and finger and lifted it to eye-level. It was practically a twig in comparison. Sam had a sudden vision of those enormous fingers squeezing tighter and tighter, his ribs cracking one by one under the giant's steady, unconcerned smirk —

"You're here to kill me," the giant said quietly. "Aren't you?" 

The statement jolted Sam into immobility. He stared up at the suddenly inscrutable expression, and felt the panic swirling in his stomach pull into a tight, heavy knot. 

The giant stared at him for a long, heart-pounding moment. Then he sighed, ruffling Sam's hair with the warm, heavy exhalation. "Alright, kid," he said. "You're obviously way out of your depth with this. And I would’ve let you go if I thought you wouldn't come back with more hunters." 

Sam's heart started pounding double what it had before. He was going to die, wasn't he? Right here, right now. 

"So I want you to pull out your cell phone and call whoever sent you and tell them you ganked me," he continued. "And if you code word, I'm gonna know it, and I'm not gonna like it. Capiche?" 

He nodded, swallowing hard. He had to figure a way out of this. Shit, how could he figure a way out of this? 

The fist around him loosened enough to let him dig a shaking hand in his jacket pocket, press a trembling finger to speed dial, and lift the cell to his ear. It rang. And rang. And rang. Finally he got voicemail. Bobby's gruff voice nearly brought tears to his eyes. But he gritted his teeth. "Hey, Bobby," he said, his voice as level as he could make it. "It's Sam. I got the giant. Managed to burn the remains without starting a forest fire. Thanks for your help. I, uh, got a call for another hunt nearby, so...I guess I'll see you around." His throat closed, and he hastily hung up. 

"Phone, please."

He hesitated before dropping his cell in the proffered palm. It skidded into the lifeline and stayed, looking more like a little speck of black plastic than anything else. Sam gulped.

The giant gave him a soft look that really made him uncomfortable. Like he was genuinely sorry he was about to crush Sam out of existence. 

"Just do it," he said, shutting his eyes and bracing himself, hoping it would be quick.

There was a too-long moment where nothing happened. Sam hated himself for it, but he peered up at the giant after a few long seconds. 

"I'm not going to kill you," the giant said plainly. "I probably should, but I'm not going to." 

The fingers twitched around him, and Sam flinched, expecting the worst, but they only twisted and opened, leaving him lying on his belly across the broad palm. He scrambled out of the exposed, vulnerable position as soon as he had enough leeway to do so, settling into a coiled crouch. He glared warily up at the giant. "What are you going to do, then?" he asked, pretty sure he wasn't going to like the answer. 

"Well, I can't exactly let you run off, now can I?" the giant replied with a teasing smirk. "Blow my cover. Like that other guy, the one with the bum leg." _Caleb_ , Sam's brain provided. "I mean, I kinda want to live. I'm sure you get that." There was a sliver of teeth showing, glinting in the moonlight, and Sam tried desperately not to think of sharks and alligators and Jack and the Beanstalk.

"I guess I've got to hold onto you," the giant said casually. "At least till we can get an agreement worked out." 

Sam felt like he'd been suckerpunched directly in the stomach, or maybe like someone had vacuumed all the air out of his lungs. "W-What?" 

"Guess we’re gonna be sticking together for a while," the giant said, seemingly unconcerned by the oncoming panic attack. 

Scratch the punch or the vacuum. This was so much worse. He was facing down a living death in captivity to a monster. 

He scrambled to his feet, intending to leap off the side of the massive hand, only to be closed in a fist before he could come close. "Let go of me!" he shouted, fighting against the too-powerful fingers with all his might. "Let me go, you fucking _bastard_!" His breath was coming too fast, black dancing at the edge of his vision. 

The giant was saying something else, something likely meant to be soothing, but the oncoming hand aimed at his face kind of drowned out any calmness that might have inspired, even if he had been inclined to listen to his captor. He ducked as the tip of the massive finger landed on the crown of his head, but it only ruffled his hair, in what was likely supposed to be a light and comforting touch. Instead Sam felt horribly patronized, bile rising in his throat as he struggled and shouted. 

"God, you're a feisty little bitch," the giant chuckled and stood, and shit, Sam may well have underestimated the monster's height. It was hard to tell through the blinding panic and his attempt to get his teeth to break through thick, callused skin. He was only chest-high and he could still splatter if he hit the ground from here. He realized dimly in the back of his mind he was hyperventilating, and maybe he didn't want to pass out while completely under the power of a colossus with dubious intentions. It was a little late to think about that, though. 

He sunk into darkness, sharp green eyes pinning him from far above, and hoped to God he would wake up to find it all a dream.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I promised myself I would add to this lil chapter before I cross-posted it, but we don't always get what we what. I'll post Chapter 3 along with it just so I don't feel like I'm jilting you guys.

“Hey, whoa, stay with me, buddy,” Dean cautioned as the tiny body went limp in his grip. But the hunter was already out cold, his head lolling like a rag doll. He quickly unfolded his hand and cupped him gently, carefully holding his ear just above the little chest in an effort to hear the heartbeat. It wasn't working so well, so he brushed a finger against the open mouth instead, feeling relief rush through him at the flutter of breath that hit his skin. He was alive, just unconscious. Likely shock or something. 

So Dean cupped him carefully in two hands, one overtop the other like he had caught a bug, just in case he woke up and tried to jump for it again, and headed to the cave he’d called home for all of a week now. 

The way he constantly moved around was partly precaution, partly a measure to ensure he didn't deplete the local resources too quickly, and partly out of sheer habit. It reminded him sometimes of the childhood he’d spent with his dad and his brother, moving from motel to motel, school to school. Dean couldn't say he missed school at all, but there were plenty of other aspects missing. Like eating a full size piece of pie, instead of the quarter-sized discs they were to him now. He still snatched them whenever he got the chance, but those were few and far between. And pizza, can't forget pizza. Not to mention TV. Even crappy B-movies held a certain charm when they weren't exactly readily available to you. 

It had all started with the damn witch. Sam’s voice calling out in fear, Dean jumping in front of him, a bright light — then nothing. Next thing he knew, he was alone in a wood with trees that barely cleared his waist. He had grown since he was fourteen, and the trees were substantially shorter in comparison, but the out-of-place feeling, though faded, still remained. 

Dean had quickly figured out his focus would have to be survival. Keep out of sight, find safe places to stay, fend for yourself, and don't eat more than the bare minimum. His life had narrowed to staying low, keeping silent, and hoping the sudden decline in wildlife wouldn't attract any attention. It wasn't ideal, but it was simple. He didn't mind it.

Then, when he was sixteen, he had ended up in the same area that a wendigo was plaguing. He figured it out pretty quick from the news he caught around town. When he realized there weren't any hunters forthcoming to deal with it, he decided to take on the monster himself. Turns out a giant boot actually replaces the need for salting and burning many of the bodies. Dean still does it, just in case, but he doesn't have any real expectation for the smushed monsters to pop back to life again. 

He’d spent years in this life. But now things were complicated. Now he had a human. A hunter, which was even worse, considering the rash of disappearances that had drawn him to the area in the first place was now easily pinned on him. Dean didn't exactly blame him, but it was frustrating nonetheless. 

He wasn't sure if the guy was even out of college, with his tiny shaggy head and little big eyes. And he'd terrified the fuck out of him. Great. So much for keeping things casual. 

It wasn't entirely unexpected. He didn't exactly have much contact with, well, anyone. Hadn't for years. Not since the curse, really. There'd been a few close calls, but nothing that came out of it. Right up until Mr. Bum Leg. And now this kid. 

The idea of contact was intriguing, yeah, but practical? Or even safe? Not a chance. Still. He was stuck with the guy for now. At least until they got some sort of a truce in place. A mutual non-killing contract or something. _If you haven't killed the kid already._

Dean sighed. How the fuck he was going to get out of this one, he had no clue. 

He ducked into the opening of the cave and curled himself inside, close enough to the entrance that the moonlight streamed in unabated. He carefully tucked the little human into his shirt pocket, marveling at minuscule limbs and perfectly formed features. Sometimes it was hard to believe he had once been that size. 

“C’mon, little guy,” Dean found himself murmuring. “Don't clock out on me now.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question: When do ya'll usually look for updates on the ol' AO3? Do you prefer once a week updates on already completed fics, or would you rather me post as I write? Warning: such variance of speed. You have no idea. I'll write ten chapters in a weekend and then nothing for a month. Which means stuff will be that much more delayed if we do it by completed stuff. 
> 
> *shrug* Just wondering.

Sam awoke to semidarkness and the rushing of warm air around him. His eyes sprung open and he sat up in a rush, glancing around in disorientation. Or, he would have, if his head hadn't brushed against something stretching over him. Cloth. He scrambled his way out, and found himself lying on an enormous chest, half in a pocket twice the size of a sleeping bag. He was in a cave, lying on rough, warm fabric. Enormous blanket-sized squares of several alternating patterns and materials were sown together with what looked to be twine, to make a vast shirt. It had the appearance of a flannel quilt, complete with buttons the size of Sam’s head. He sucked in a breath of cool air and looked up. 

Green eyes watched him worriedly, carefully. A low voice came as if from all around. “Scared me there, kiddo,” the giant said. 

And of fucking course it wasn't a dream. 

Sam pulled himself slowly, tensely, from his place, watching the other warily. He nearly lost his balance at the unexpected rise-fall of a breath, but righted himself quickly, getting into a crouch. 

The giant looked a little amused, but nodded slightly, as if in approval. “You hungry?” 

He frowned. “Why do you care?” Sam asked carefully. 

The giant chuckled, making him lose his footing again and land on his ass. “Believe it or not, I'm actually not fattening you up for dinner.” 

“What, you're not going to eat me? Like you didn't snack on the good townspeople already?” Sam shot back. 

The giant rolled his eyes. “Well, geez, stereotype much?” he said dryly. At Sam’s unchanged expression, his nose wrinkled in disgust. “Ugh. Dude, seriously? No way. That's just sick.” Then he seemed to consider the idea. “I mean, I get why you’d think that. It is pretty damn hard to get a decent-sized meal. But I'm not into the squirmy stuff. Doubt you’d taste all that good anyway.” He grinned. 

He couldn't help the lurch of fear that tightened around his stomach. Apparently it must have shown, because the giant’s smile immediately dropped. “Hey, whoa, I was kidding,” he said quickly. Something touched Sam’s back, and he pitched forward in a panic, whirling to find an enormous pair of fingers retreating. The giant winced. “Sorry, sorry. No touchy. Got it.” 

Sam pulled himself into a fight-ready stance, looking just nonchalant enough to fool most people, and some monsters too. Except this guy, apparently, who was way too smart to be a giant. Either the lore had been completely and utterly wrong, or Sam had been captured by the equivalent of a genius among giants. And even though his luck was bad, it wasn't _that_ bad. 

“If you aren't responsible for the disappearances, then what is?” Sam challenged. 

The giant gave him a flat look. “You really expect me to have an answer for you?” he deadpanned. “And even if I did, I don't see why I should have to explain myself to you. It's not like you're going to be able to do anything.” 

Instantly Sam’s thoughts went to the knife tucked away in his waistband. Maybe, if he could get the giant to let down his guard, just a little...

“Let’s start over,” the giant said, studiously casual. “I'm Dean.” 

He felt a slight pang at that, but only nodded in return. “Sam.” He ducked a little as a finger suddenly hovered before him. It took him a moment, but he eventually realized it was meant to be a handshake. He gripped the tip of the finger warily, and the giant — Dean — moved it up and down. 

He found himself briefly fascinated by the ridges in the thick skin, a fingerprint nearly wide enough to fit his own fingers into. The idea made him shudder, forcibly reminded of just how helpless he was. At least he wasn't actively being threatened at the moment. 

“So you're Sam,” Dean drawled as his finger retreated. “Sam the giant hunter, who fails miserably at the actual killing part.” 

Sam bristled. “I found you, didn't I?” he snapped. The accusation was enough to make him forget his fear for the moment. 

He snorted. “Caught me sleeping and still couldn't manage to give me anything more than a couple of pricks.” He furrowed his brow in puzzlement. “Why the hell did you try using a bow and arrow, anyway? That's just plain stupid. Even Hawkeye couldn't take me down with those teeny things.” 

Sam flushed a little. “It was in the lore,” he muttered, staring darkly down at the mismatched fabric beneath his feet. 

Everything shifted, and he fell backward again, sliding uncontrollably, and then scrambling as well as an enormous face popped up in his line of sight. 

“What’d you say?” the giant asked, his voice much louder, much closer. Freckles the size of Sam’s palm stood out in the moonlight, sprinkled across a nose as tall as he was. He stared, his mouth dry, as the green eyes searched over him in a vague confusion. “What? I got bad breath or something?” 

Dean did indeed have bad breath, but Sam didn't think it would be all that prudent to bring up at the moment. “Uh,” he managed, swallowing hard. “I said it was in the lore.” 

The giant wrinkled his nose, and the movement was so big, so sharp, so sudden, that Sam had to bite back a gasp. “Lore doesn't replace proper backup. Seriously, trying to go after me by yourself? Were you trying to get yourself killed? I'm at least twenty times bigger and stronger than you.” 

Sam really didn't need that reminder, the feeling of air rushing past him did the job quite eloquently by itself. But he glared up at him, standing his ground. “If the lore had been right, you would already be dead, or badly wounded.” 

“Riiiiiight,” Dean said, obviously not believing a word of it. But his gaze was getting distracted, it seemed, running up and down Sam’s coiled form like he was trying to figure him out. The squirming feeling in his stomach agreed with the rush of adrenaline in his veins — this was bad. 

His suspicion was confirmed the next moment when he was hoisted into the air without warning by the back of his shirt. “Put me down!” he yelled, kicking out with all his might. He only succeeded in twisting himself around, and back again, dangling in empty air a few yards above the expansive chest. 

“Relax, princess. I'm just taking a look at you,” Dean said, completely unconcerned with the fact that Sam was in a very uncomfortable position and was not interested, thanks. 

A second later he was being prodded with a fingertip as wide as his head, and he tried to shove it away, with no effect. “Get off,” he growled, pulling with all his might as Dean pinched one of his wrists with careful, precise movements, and inspected his hand like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. Sam was pretty sure it wasn't. 

“I'm serious, lay off!” he called up with a glare, trying to mask his nerves with bravado. Dean still wasn't paying any attention to him, prodding at one of his feet now. He kicked him, feeling like a creature under a scientist’s scrutiny. It wasn't fun. 

“Okay, okay, keep your shirt on.” Dean finally lowered him into a broad palm, and Sam promptly fell back on his ass, eliciting a snicker from above. 

He raised a venomous glower toward the giant. “If you could not, that’d be great,” he snarked with narrowed eyes. He was tensed, ready for a fight, but the only response he got in return was the quirk of an oversized brow. 

“If I could not what?” Dean responded. “Do this?” A finger squished into Sam’s stomach, and he huffed out whatever air had remained in his lungs. 

“Yes, that!” He ducked and pushed back until he was kind of in the curve of the monolithic fingers. Strangely enough, it actually felt like shelter. 

Maybe the idea wasn’t entirely crazy, because the giant only chuckled, and let him be. “Alright, pint-size. Have it your way.” The tease was almost fond, and Sam found himself staring up at the other with a curiosity of his own. What — or who — was this Dean? And why did he almost feel comfortable with him? 

“So, what intel you got on those disappearances you think I’m responsible for?” Dean asked, a slight sardonic twist in his tone telling Sam exactly what he thought about that ‘stereotypical’ attitude. 

“Why?” he returned with sarcasm of his own. “You planning on hunting it with me?” 

“As a matter of fact,” Dean said, “I am.” 

Sam blinked. “What?”


	4. Chapter 4

After his curiosity had subsided for the moment, Dean found himself wondering how he might be able to use this Sam. After all, having a human hunter around could make this monster a hell of a lot easier to find. You know, barring the fact that Sam didn’t trust him at all, and that he saw Dean as a monster himself. 

“You seriously want to hunt with me?” Sam repeated, seeming like he was having some difficulty wrapping his head around the idea. The implied _but you're a monster_ made Dean clench his jaw. 

“What, a man can't help his fellow creatures?” Sam only quirked a dubious brow, and Dean rolled his eyes. “C’mon, now. If there's seriously a monster out there, which there is, then you aren't going to believe me when I say I didn’t do anything. So the obvious fix here is for me to prove I'm innocent. Which I really don't have to do by the way,” he added pointedly, “except for the fact that I like you.” 

Sam gave an incredulous snort. “You _like_ me. Seriously. That's your motive.” 

“Hey, you're currently in my good graces, short stuff. I wouldn't push it.” His tone was teasing, but it was obvious the hunter took it seriously, because he clammed up, and looked like he might be trying not to burrow back into the fingers curled over his head. He seemed to realize it a moment later, and Dean thought he might have flushed, though it was hard to tell from where he was in comparison. 

“In any case,” Dean continued. “You've got plenty of research on the incidents I’m sure. Maybe it would be prudent to interview a few witnesses before assuming they’ll point their evidence to me.” 

Sam still didn't seem convinced, but he nodded anyway. “I can do that much.” 

“Good.” Dean peered out the mouth of the cave, and judged the time to be far enough away from morning that starting now would be pointless. So he only sat up, ignoring Sam’s yelp, and looked him over. He was kind of scrawny, but in a lean and wiry way, brown bangs falling into his wide eyes, legs tucked under him in an obvious precursor to defense. Dean couldn't tell if he was tall or short compared to other humans, but if he had to guess he’d say tall. The way he carried his long limbs was almost coltish, and he couldn’t imagine the awkward grace looking right on anyone shorter. He reached a finger out and set it gently on the impossibly thin shoulder. 

“Quit it,” Sam snapped, and swatted at his finger, dodging away in a motion that was both quick and futile. Dean almost went to do it again, just to be annoying, but the fear gleaming in the tiny hazels dissuaded him pretty quickly. He cleared his throat. 

“So,” he said. “We’ve got a few hours till morning. Whatcha wanna do, pint-size?” 

“Is getting out of here an option?” the other mumbled, but Dean sensed it wasn't meant for him, so he didn't respond. Then Sam glared up at him. “Look. You’ve kidnapped me, you're holding me against my will, and now you want to, what, do care-and-share? No thanks, I’ll pass.” 

He couldn't help but admire the courage it took to mouth off like that when he was so obviously skittish. At the same time it was almost...cute. A little doll-like figure on his palm snarking away like he could threaten him seriously. A smile tugged at his lips, despite himself. “Alright. Have it your way.” 

Dean stood, keeping Sam cupped in his hands, and relocated to the glade just outside. He adjusted himself in a reclining position and deposited the small ball of warmth beside his pocket. “Sleep off that cranky scowl, and we’ll get going in the morning.” 

Sam stared up, mouth agape, as though completely affronted. “I'm not sleeping on your fucking _chest_!” 

“Yeah, you are,” Dean shot back mildly. 

Sam fumed under his breath, looking like he was considering making a jump for it, but he seemed to reconsider. He huffed out a breath that ruffled the tiny bangs, and curled up somewhere between Dean’s heart and his collarbone. 

He kept an eye on Sam, but mostly he was watching the stars. The North Star, dependable as Old Faithful, was shining out bright in the heavens. He followed its path down to find the Big Dipper, and then the Little Dipper too. 

“Do you like stargazing?” Sam asked suddenly. 

Dean glanced down in surprise, but then smiled a little. “Yeah, I do. I don't know as many constellations as I wish I did, but I make up my own when I get bored.” He nodded toward one half of the sky. “Follow the bright star east. See the circles? And then there's kind of a boxy shape on top. That's the Car.” 

Sam snickered, but Dean ignored him, instead directing his attention below. “Now go down, and kind of to the left. It's kinda roundish, with a wiggly line in the middle. That's the Bacon Burger.” 

“You made up a constellation of a burger?” Sam asked incredulously. 

“Hey, how do you think they got the whole thing in the first place?” he retorted. “Someone had to make it up.” 

Sam didn't respond, so Dean figured he had won that round. “And up there, that's the Brothers. See them? They’re kinda stick figure-y.” 

“That's already a constellation,” Sam said with a slight surprise. “That's Gemini. The Twins.” 

There was a pause. “Huh,” Dean said finally. He wondered if he used to know that. He wasn't sure. “Do you know the stars?” he asked after a moment. 

“Yeah,” Sam replied quietly. Dean couldn't figure out why he sounded sad. But he seemed to bounce back quickly enough. “That's Leo. It's supposed to be a lion. You can kinda see the curve of its back, and the triangle where it's hindquarters are.” 

Dean wrinkled his nose. “Doesn't look like a lion to me.” 

Sam ignored him. “And that one there, is Taurus. It's a bull, kind of a long triangle with horns.” 

Dean couldn't really make that one out, and he gave up after a few attempts. “Which one’s your favorite?” he asked idly. 

Sam was quiet for a long time, so long he thought he might have dropped off. But then one minuscule arm came into his line of sight to point upward. “Orion, the hunter. His belt is those three stars. You can see his shoulders, and the bottom of the tunic he's wearing. And then he's got this shield on one side, and this big sword he's raising on the other. And he's got two dogs, chasing behind him. The big one is there, and the little one there.” 

“You like him because he's a hunter?” he asked. 

Sam froze on his chest. “No,” he admitted, and the tone was sort of melancholy, and almost bitter. But then he softened. “I like him because I can always find him. He's always there. Like he's watching over me.” 

Dean digested that in silence as he looked up at the constellation. The stars wheeled in the heavens, and Orion was in motion, running over the dark fields of the night sky. Protecting. A hunter. Just like Dean. 

Just like Sam. 

He knew the moment the little guy dropped off, because his entire form relaxed against him, almost molding to the rise-fall of breath underneath him. Dean couldn't resist the lightest brush of a fingertip to the tiny back, before he laid a gentle hand over Sam and dropped off himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy fluffy fluff. 
> 
> Includes a bunch of my SPN stargazing headcanons, kudos to anyone who figures them out ahead of time. ^^ 
> 
> Fun fact: While Dean is an Aquarius (like me!), Sam is a Taurus. Hence the inclusion of said constellation. And for the record, Aquarius is one I can never actually find. Hence Sam NOT including it. Lol.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam’s eyes snapped open in the darkness. He couldn't believe it. Dean had bought it. Letting the tenseness out of his body had been the hardest thing he ever had to do, but he’d done it. And now he had a chance. A real, actual chance. 

He sent his gaze up to check on the face above him. Doused in moonlight, the expression was relaxed and peaceful. Fast asleep. 

He grinned, a quick stretch of his lips, before very, very carefully raising himself on his hands and knees. He slowly scooted out from under the hand and made his way toward the edge. He flipped over into a sitting position, and slid off. He landed in a heap, and froze. The even, deep breathing, filling his ears with a sound like a roaring tide, reassured him enough to pick himself up and sprint silently into the underbrush. 

When he was far enough away to let loose a sigh of relief, he did, feeling as though he could whoop with the sheer exhilaration of freedom. He didn't, of course, knowing that would likely be his last move. He only shot his way east toward the Impala. Too bad his phone was still back there, but there were more in the glove compartment, and he still had his knife, since the giant had completely missed the fact that he’d had it. Sam was beginning to be very grateful that he hadn't — _oh shit._

The ground was shaking. Shit, the _ground was shaking._ He sucked in a sharp breath, cursing everything that led up to this situation, before doing the only thing he could think of. He scrambled up the nearest tree. 

The shaking grew nearer and nearer, the rhythmic trembles coiling in his stomach. A cold wash of nausea swept over him as he realized just how _fucked_ he was. He burrowed into the leaves, as close against the bark as he could get, and prayed to every god he could think of that he wouldn't be found. 

The footsteps slowed as they approached, and then stopped. Sam forced himself into utter stillness, staring at what had to be the giant’s thigh. He observed, in a detached sort of way, that the pants Dean was wearing appeared to be denim, though that was impossible. And the quilt-like patches along the side of the leg looked as though they were meant to expand the pants a few sizes, stretching all the way up to the waistband. Then all thought fled in panic as the enormous cloth shifted, wrinkling with the slight movement and falling stiff and smooth again. 

“I know you're here,” the voice boomed out, and Sam nearly lost his hold. He clutched the tree like a lifeline. In a way, it was. “C’mon, I'm not in the mood for hide-and-seek.” Dean sounded groggy, and less than amused. He was pretty sure that coming out of hiding was the last thing he wanted to do at this point. 

And _fuck_ Dean was bending over. He swept one of his massive hands across the canopy of trees opposite Sam, creating a waterfall of leaves and cracking branches. The hand kept moving, until it crossed his own tree, sending it swinging, and nearly tearing a cry from his throat. 

Okay, so maybe praying to Loki for mercy was a bad idea. 

Sam clung with all his might, eyes squeezed shut, holding fast until the motion passed. Once it did, he breathed the barest sigh of relief, and opened his eyes to readjust his posture. 

And found himself staring right into a pair of emeralds. 

“Shit!” He lost his balance, and fell forward, right into Dean’s waiting palm. Heavy fingers closed around him and lifted him in front of a house-sized face that did _not_ look happy. 

“Couldn't sleep?” Dean deadpanned. 

Sam swallowed hard. It distantly occurred to him that he would probably fit pretty damned easily in the other’s mouth if he had the inclination to put him there. 

The giant seemed to consider him for a few moments, before huffing out a breath that sent humid warmth crawling up his arms, pricking gooseflesh along every exposed surface. Then he was being moved. He scrabbled for purchase against callused skin as he dropped fast enough to send his stomach plummeting. All around him was suddenly darkness in the form of thick, suffocating cloth. 

“I'm going back to bed,” the voice vibrated against his back. Sam looked up from where he’d collapsed in the bottom of the pocket to find retreating tree-thick fingers and one sharp eye peering down at him. “Consider yourself in timeout. You’re gonna sit in there, and you're not gonna move.” And then all light was cut off. 

“No! _Wait!_ ” Sam shouted, kicking out for the purchase necessary to pull himself to a wobbly stand, but it was too late. By the time he reached up and pushed at the cloth stretched above, it had been firmly secured in place. Then he was sent back to his knees when Dean started walking, the impacts jolting. “Let me out! Let me _go!_ ” 

“No,” the giant said irritably, and something hard and unyielding shoved into him. “Quit squirming, or I’ll put you somewhere a lot less comfortable.” 

Sam knew a threat when he heard it. All the same, he would have ignored it and kept fighting if all the air hadn't been pressed out of him with bruising force. When he thought about it, he realized he had just been defeated with a hand and a buttoned pocket, and felt more weak than ever. He didn't allow the word _helpless_ to cross his mind. He might have been small and insignificant to this guy, but he had his knife, and he wasn't giving up just yet. 

Gravity flipped as the giant presumably laid back down. Sam curled in the bottom of the pocket. He would bide his time, wait for a better advantage. He could do this. He wasn't going to roll over for this monster or any other. He was a Winchester, and he would fight back. 

Instead of praying to God, gods, or angels, Sam did what he reserved for the most desperate of situations. 

He stared up at the bit of starlight peeking through the coarse fabric, and prayed to his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Sam sucks at listening to directions. Can't really blame him. And grumpy!Dean is a little scary at this size. Oops. 
> 
> Kudos to who can spot the almost cameo ^^


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, there's a little canon-typical gore in this bit.

Dean awoke far too early to thrashing in his pocket and way too little sleep. He groaned. “Oh for fuck’s sake. Give it a rest, buddy. Sun’s not even up yet, and you already gave me a hell of a time last night.” 

There was a muffled protest, something along the lines of _it’s light out, dumbass, I know it’s morning,_ which was true, but Dean had been hoping the pocket had been thick enough to buy him a little more sleep. Apparently not so much. He grumbled wordlessly as he got up, but petty revenge was his, and he left the hunter in his pocket as he stretched and worked out as many kinks as he could find. 

After he felt it had been a suitable enough amount of time, he opened the flap in his pocket, to find Sam rumpled and sulky, glaring up at him with crossed arms. “Are you done?” the little dude snapped. 

Dean was still pissed as all hell, but that sight alone was enough to make him laugh aloud. “Jesus, did you go through the dryer? Your hair is fluffed out like you stuck your head in an electric socket or something!” 

Sam immediately covered his head with both hands and worked to pat it down into something a little more manageable. Which sent Dean into another set of snickers, but he didn't say anything. He did, however, immediately decide that he was going to keep the kid around a while. If nothing else, he was someone he could actually talk to and tease. However unwilling his attention might be received. 

“So,” he said after a few moments, smile still clinging to his lips. “How about that hunt?” 

The hunter looked as though he had more sass to bring out, before apparently changing his mind and explaining what he knew. “The victims have all disappeared in your neck of the woods. There's been three so far, all reported missing in the last two weeks or so.” The look that followed made it abundantly clear that Dean was still a prime suspect. 

He rolled his eyes. “First off, I’ve been in the area for all of eight days. Secondly, I don't eat people. That's disgusting. Besides, if I were going to eat you, you’d think I’d have done it by now.” 

“It's only just now breakfast time,” Sam pointed out with maddening logic and what was something between defiance and resignation. 

Dean glared, taking a slight bit of satisfaction when he caught a hint of fear in the minuscule features. “What, you _want_ to be eaten or something? Because if you have a death wish I'm sure I can arrange something.” He didn't feel as bad as maybe he should have to see the small throat bobbing nervously. 

Sam screwed up enough courage to retort, “I could say the same to you, asshole.” 

They stared darkly at each other, at an impasse for a moment. Then Dean finally broke the silence with a heavy sigh. “Alright. Guess that's my cue to get going.” He stood, ignoring the curses from his pocket, and stayed low as he skirted past the cave, toward the town a bit. He paused about halfway between the two, his nose suddenly wrinkled. “Oh gross.” 

The stench of death permeated the area for a good long stretch of trees, each one with dark spots that looked like rot, the bark peeling off. There were vast dry patches of grass and lifeless underbrush. The vibrant autumn leaves were brown and dull, covering the ground like a second, flaking skin. At the base of each bare-limbed tree there was a small animal. Rabbits, raccoons, chipmunks, squirrels, groundhogs. Each one was decapitated, its body nailed upside down, and its blood dripping a dark stream on its removed head and puddling around it on the forest floor. 

Sam had somehow managed to clamber his way to peer over the lip of the pocket. When he took in the scene before him, he took a sharp inhale. “Fuck,” he breathed. 

“Is it just me, or does this look like some serious voodoo shit?” Dean asked lowly. 

“No kidding,” Sam replied, frustration forgotten in favor of leaning as far forward as he could to gain more information. 

Dean walked slowly around the site, almost afraid to set foot inside. The whole thing almost looked as though it had been set up in a pattern. And in the center…

“Is that an _altar?!_ ” The hush the scene had seemed to require was shattered with Sam’s outburst. Dean followed his pointing finger, and sure enough, there was a wide, flat rock, stained black, surrounded, in what could almost be deemed lovingly, with human bones. Four skulls marked the four cardinal directions, while longer bones made up a circle, and smaller ones were delicately arranged in occult symbols on either side. 

“I think we found our monster,” Dean said with a scowl. “Human sacrifice. That's just fucking _freaky._ ” 

Sam pointed to one of the symbols. “See that? That's a Salem rune. That means we’ve got an entire coven out here.” 

“Salem? Like the Salem Witch Trials?” he asked incredulously. “I thought that was all just a bunch of hoo-hah.” 

“Most of it was,” the other agreed, “but there was a grain of truth to it. They say there really was a witch in Salem, but she had started the whole thing out of fear that she would be found out, and then she found that the deaths of the innocent gave her even more power than before.” 

“Hence the disappearances,” Dean surmised. “Poor bastards.” They looked at the setup in silence for a few long moments. Then he said, “So can I wipe this thing out of existence, or what?” 

Sam shook his head slowly. “After. First, I think we need to set a trap.” 

Dean smirked darkly. “Now you’re talking.”


	7. Chapter 7

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” Sam seethed. “There is _no way_ I’m going to be bait.” 

“What? Scared of a bunch of squirrel-killing witches?” Dean teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief. 

He sent up the dirtiest look he could muster. “In case you forgot, we’re dealing with _human sacrifice_ here. And believe it or not, that's really not the way I want to go out.” The implication that Dean might just leave him there, easy out, no questions by pesky hunters, had not escaped him. 

The giant seemed to realize his train of thought, and he scowled to match. “Seriously? You think I’d let a bunch of witch bitches do my dirty work for me? Not a chance.” Then he smirked again. “Besides. You come in handy a lot better alive.” 

His heart dropped. “W-What?” 

“I mean, bait’s one thing, but you're a hunter. I can use you to interview victims, do research, I don't have to worry about you holding your own, and on top of that you fit in my pocket.” He grinned. 

His panic built with every word. “You can't just — _keep_ me,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. 

“And why not?” Dean countered, smug enough to turn his stomach. “What are you gonna do, bite me? I'm pretty sure I got you well in hand.” He chuckled at his own pun. 

“No. _Fuck_ no! I'm not some – some –” Sam had to break off when Dean closed his hand in a little closer, just close enough to feel like he might be suffocating solely from the proximity of it. 

“You kinda are,” the giant informed him unrepentantly. “I mean, c’mon. What's cuter than a tiny hunter?” He snickered. “A pocket-size Sammy’s too hard to resist.” 

It wasn't the nickname, exactly, but the cocky smirk that went with it, and the way that it dug and itched under his skin in a strangely familiar way, that made Sam flinch and gasp out an aborted curse. Because, no. No no no no. 

But the eyes were green, and the freckles were right, and the hair, and the smirk, and the cut of his stubbled jaw. It hadn't been stubbled twelve years ago. But then again, it hadn't been the size of a house either. 

“Dean?” he asked in a choked voice. “Is your last name Winchester?” 

The giant's eyes widened and then narrowed, and Sam’s gut clenched. 

But he reacted too late, ducked the grasping fingers after the grip had already closed around him and jerked him dizzily upward. 

_“Who the hell are you?”_ Dean hissed, eyes icy flecks of jade and steel. 

Sam had to fight to suck in warm, humid air as breath whooshed over him. “Dean, it's me. It's Sammy.” 

He yelped as he felt all the air shoved out of his chest by the too-tight fist. His skin would be mottled purple later, he was sure. If there was a later. 

“Sammy _who_?” the giant growled, and oh shit he was going to die. 

“Winchester,” he managed to force past his gritted teeth. “Your brother.” 

There was a long, painful pause, in which the giant sized him up, and Sam struggled for breath. “You're lying,” he said finally. 

“You don't believe that,” he countered. A massive, blunt thumbnail dug into his chest and he huffed out a pained whimper. “Dean, please. It's me,” Sam panted, his mind scrambling. “I have something that will prove it. If you’ll let me show you, you’ll remember it. You made it for me.” 

His glare remained cold, but his grip eased up slightly, just enough for Sam to push his hand past reluctant pressure and draw out his knife, holding it up for inspection. 

The enormous face slackened, revealing his shock for just a moment before he clamped back down. “You could easily have stolen it.”

“But I didn't,” he said firmly. “I was there when you gave it to me. It was the same day we passed Disneyland on the way to a case, and you teased me for a week about wanting to be a princess. I remember you always giving me the last bowl of Lucky Charms, and your crazy macaroni and cheese concoctions. I remember the night you disappeared. Trails West motel. We were gonna order pizza for dinner. But then…” He took an unsteady breath, feeling the grip around him slowly relaxing, though his gaze was still rock hard and unyielding. “Dean. We thought you were _dead_.” 

The giant stared at him for a long moment. Then he slowly reached under his collar, into his shirt, and pulled out something that gleamed a little. 

A brass amulet, shaped like an idol’s head, complete with horned headdress and peaceful face. It was as long as Sam’s arm now, but he could remember when he could clutch it in his hand. 

He returned his wide eyes to Dean, and found an expression so filled with hope and despair and longing and fear, it looked as though it could crack. 

“Sammy?” Dean whispered. 

“Oh my God,” Sam said, his body falling limp with relief. “It's really you.” 

“Yeah,” he replied, his eyes filling with tears and a grin splitting his face. “Yeah, it's me.” And the grin was too big and Dean’s nuzzle too rough and the stubble scraping and the tears soaking him through upon contact, but Sam didn't care. 

He had his brother back.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean held Sam in a makeshift hug for a long, perfect moment. The little spot of warmth and teeny tiny heartbeat — that was Sammy. _Sammy_. All grown up and hunting. Holy shit. 

And then the spot moved, shifting a little, and said, “Dude. Your breath reeks.” 

Dean laughed and took that as his cue to wrap up their little Hallmark moment. “Well, if you find a toothbrush my size, send it my way. I've kinda had to make do for a while.” He pulled Sam away from his face and set him gently on the ground again. And, yeah, he knew he was big, but holy shit. Sam was tiny. It wasn't as though he’d had a lot of human contact since he got cursed. That was kind of something to avoid if he could help it. 

Sam slumped where he placed him, clutching at his torso, and he had a moment of perplexed, concerned observation (did he have a stomachache or something?) before — oh. Oh _God._

“Shit. I hurt you, didn't I? I'm so sorry, Sammy. So goddamned sorry. I —” 

“It's fine, Dean,” Sam waved him off, and it wasn't fine, but he had to leave it at that because his brother kept talking. “Were you really going to just keep me?” he asked, looking disturbed. 

“Uh, sort of?” Dean said sheepishly. “At first it was just till I could figure out why you came after me, and how exactly I needed to prove my innocence.” 

“At first?” Sam echoed, sounding scandalized. “Oh my God. You seriously _were_ going to keep me! Dean, I’m not an animal or something!”

“I know you're not an animal,” he assured. He went to rub the back of his neck, but froze at a flinch from Sam, and slowly lowered his hand to his lap to join the other. “I just...I dunno. I don't really have anyone like me. As far as I know, I’m the only giant there is. So keeping you around is...tempting.” He shrugged. 

Sam muttered something that sounded suspiciously like _oh for fuck’s sake_ and glared up at him. Jesus, how did he not see it before now? It was the exact same bitchface he’d had since he was old enough to frown. It made him grin. 

“Well, you ain't getting rid of me now, pint-size. Not in a million years.” The easiness with which that statement left him almost left him off balance, but this was Sam, after all. He’d do anything for him. 

Dean leaned forward eagerly. “So what’ve you been doing with yourself? I know you’ve been hunting innocent giants, but what else? Is Dad on another job?” 

Sam shifted awkwardly. “Well, a lot’s happened since you've been gone,” he allowed. 

Dean immediately picked up on the evasive tone, because even if the voice was smaller and less childish, Sam was still as obvious as all hell. 

“Dad’s...not here,” he said slowly. “I, um. I sort of went to college, and —” 

“You went to college?” Dean interrupted. “Holy shit, that's awesome! But what did you even major in? It's not like underwater basket weaving can help much with tracking demons or killing werewolves.” 

“Law,” he said, so quiet Dean almost couldn't hear him. “I was going to be a lawyer. Right up until...well. Like I said, a lot’s happened.” 

Slowly but surely the story spilled forth. Dad’s mysterious texts. A woman in white. And Sam’s girlfriend burning to death on the ceiling. 

Just like Mom. 

Dean was reeling, but he wasn't so out of it to miss the way Sam was dangerously close to tears. It was only the barest of hesitations before he cupped his hand around his little brother and just held him. Sam startled, but he leaned into the warmth, so Dean figured he was safe to rub a gentle knuckle up and down his back. “Sorry I wasn't there for you, kiddo.” 

Sam snorted mirthlessly. “Not like it was your fault,” he replied with a shrug, but he didn't fight the comfort. He wasn't actively encouraging it, but he certainly wasn't fighting it. And that was a reassurance all its own. 

Dean had tried to find his way back, after the curse. 

It had taken him a day and a half to get back to the motel again, only to peer in the room and find it empty, the parking lot devoid of the familiar black Impala. He could never decide if Dad had gotten Sam the hell out of there as quickly as possible, or if they'd just given up on him and moved on. It wasn't until later in life that he considered that he could have lost some time between the curse and waking up. But none of that mattered anymore. Whether he had tried hard enough or not, he hadn't been there for his brother when he needed it. And that hurt. 

But Sam looked up with a small, but genuine smile, and said, “I missed you, Dean.” And with that, everything shifted back into its proper place. 

Dean returned the smile. “Me too, Sammy. Me too.” After a warm silence, his smirk turned mischievous. “So whaddya say we kick some witch ass?” 

Sam laughed. “More like stomp some witch ass. I mean, look at you!” He gestured to Dean as if to encompass the entirety of him. “How in the hell did you get so freakin’ _big?!_ ” 

“Looks like Lady Luck likes me better,” he replied with a careful poke to Sam’s stomach. 

“Yeah, that's exactly why I’m six foot four, and you're the Statue of Liberty,” he shot back as he batted the digit away with his minuscule hands and teeny tiny fingers. Sam seemed so fragile and delicate from up here. He cocked his head in a motion that was almost cute. “How tall are you, anyway?” 

“Um, pretty damned?” Dean shrugged. “I have no idea.” 

Sam pursed his lips at that, before demanding, “Bring me up to your face. I'm gonna measure you.” 

“With what?” he responded with a quirked brow, even as he complied. “Your fingers?” 

“No, my whole body, dumbass,” Sam retorted. “If I’m roughly six feet tall, and I’m, what, four or so inches in comparison?” He compared himself to Dean’s nose. Which Dean only knew because he leaned against his skin, eerily soft fabric brushing against his lips and impossibly fine hair tickling his cheek. “Yeah, four inches. So that makes you...about eighty feet tall?” 

Dean blinked. “Huh. Really?” He didn't know what he was expecting, but eighty feet was a goddamn ton. And speaking of tons, who the fuck knew how much he weighed at this point? A fucking shitload, that was for sure. 

“Yeah,” Sam said, sounding a little in awe. “Really. I mean, my palm is only a little bigger than your freckles, so you have to be pretty fucking big.” 

“No shit, Sherlock,” Dean tossed back, but he was more caught on the first part of that statement. He knew he was big, yeah, but having a normal-sized person to compare himself against was new and strange. His stomach grumbled unhappily, and Sam looked alarmed for a second before he seemed to place the noise. “Sorry,” Dean said sheepishly. “Guess it’s time for grub.” He squinted up at the sun. It looked to be mid-morning, heading toward noon, so it could kind of count as lunchtime already. “I'll give you a ride to wherever you wanna eat,” he offered. “I'll grab something out here.” 

Sam looked a little sad for no reason Dean could put his finger on, before nodding. “Yeah, sure. The Impala’s down by the edge of the woods, a few miles west of here.” 

“Baby’s here?!” He beamed widely. “No kidding!” 

“Yeah, Dad let me have it for my sixteenth,” he replied with a grin. “Actually, it’s technically yours. He was gonna give it to you if you had stuck around the extra two years.” 

Dean stared down at Sam. “Really?” 

“Yeah, really.” His smile turned teasing. “Unless you don't want it…?” 

“Hell yeah, I want her!” 

“That's what I thought,” Sam snickered. “God, you still have the hots for that car?” 

“ _She_ is not just any car. She's a _masterpiece,_ ” he said loftily. 

“If you say so,” he said with a playful roll of his eyes. 

Dean ignored him in favor of plopping him in the pocket and smirking at the indignant noises this produced. 

“Jesus Christ! A little warning next time?” 

“Nope.” He began walking toward the direction his brother had indicated, grinning to himself the whole time. 

“Whatever. Fucking giant jerk,” Sam complained, squirming to right himself against the swaying cloth. 

“Fucking tiny bitch,” Dean returned fondly. 

Yeah, being a big brother again was obviously going to be the easiest transition he’d ever have to make. Size be damned, Sammy would always be his baby brother. And together, they were gonna stomp some witch ass. 

Right after lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're as curious as I am, according to the math, Dean upsized to eighty feet with the same proportions and density as a human being would weigh about 180 US tons. That's about how much the average blue whale weighs — and they're the largest animal on Earth. Pretty damned big indeed.


	9. Chapter 9

So Dean had fucking cuddled with the Impala. 

Sam really should have seen that coming by the way he caressed it as he picked it up, but he was a bit busy trying not to freak out. At least he hadn't been inside the damn thing, though Dean had been eager to try it. _C’mon, Sammy. It’ll be fun, Sammy. Like a thrill ride! Ride the Dean Coaster! Don't be a pussy, Sammy._ Yeah, fuck to the no. At least Dean hadn't pressed once he was taken in by the car. In fact it had taken every trick Sam had to get him to put it back down. But eventually they had parted ways for the moment, Sam to a nearby diner and Dean back into the woods, presumably to grab some deer or something similar. He’d honestly been afraid to ask. 

In any case, he was on his way back, the last two pies in the diner sitting on the passenger seat and filling the cab with a tempting aroma. Sweet cherry and tart blueberry, still warm and fresh, and he couldn't wait to present Dean with them. Sure, they were no bigger than candies at his new size, but Sam would be willing to bet he was just as in love with the flavor. 

God, the fact that he had found Dean again was actually sinking in. His long-dead brother was very much alive — and eight stories tall. He shook his head with an incredulous chuckle. Only his life could get so weird. 

A car on the side of the road caught his eye, more because there was a woman his age standing beside it, her slender form slumped and tense, looking frustrated enough to cry. He doubted he could fix the car, that had always been Dean’s gig ( _holy shit, Dean was alive_ ). But in any case he could always give her a ride. So he pulled over behind her car, and got out. “Excuse me,” he said, staying beside the open driver’s door to make sure he didn't encroach on her. “Do you need some help?” 

The woman looked confused, and then relieved. “Oh, please. I'm horrible with machines.” 

Sam took that as permission to come forward, follow her over to look under the hood. “I'm Lilly, by the way.” She tucked a ringlet of curly hair behind her ear in a shy motion, and he offered her a friendly smile and an introduction of his own. Her dark skin was clear, shining bronze and sepia in the warm autumn sunshine, which made a small white scar on her neck stand out all the more. He tried not to stare, instead beginning to work on the engine as best he could. 

“I'm really not the best with cars,” he admitted, “but I'll do what I can.” 

“Seriously, thank you,” she said, her smile widening, and her nose wrinkling prettily. “It does mean a lot.” 

As Sam went back to working, she turned to watch the road, as if waiting for someone. The motion just felt off, his hunter’s instincts wanting to investigate. Instead his gaze fell to her neck again. The curling perfection of the scar looked almost to be manmade like a tattoo. It also looked vaguely familiar, thought he couldn't quite place it. 

As he took a second look at the transmission it hit him. She had a Salem rune branded onto her pulse point. She was part of the coven. He froze for just a brief second before continuing to work. No wonder he was having trouble finding the issue. This was a trap. 

He had barely enough time to let his hand fall to the knife in his waistband, before Lilly had one arm twisted behind his back, whispering an incantation that made him woozy. As his vision grayed out, he caught an image of a second woman approaching, a cold smirk on her face. 

“His soul is so pure,” Lilly said in awe, and that was the last thing he heard. 

…

It was hours later when Sam awoke, judging by the cold twilight around him. He had trouble turning his head to see anything more than that. He realized with a jolt that he was bound tightly, hand and foot, and was lying on rough, sticky stone. He struggled hard, definitely not thinking about exactly what was sticky underneath him. Gradually he became aware of a rhythmic thrum of voices around him, and he stared wild-eyed and desperate at the sky, stars framed by the dark outline of trees. Snatches of Latin permeated his consciousness. _We take this soul...we partake of its energy...we take this life and make it our own…_

A cold blade lay suddenly across his neck, held there almost tenderly by a woman he didn't recognize. He grunted through the gag as he yanked his hands as hard as he could, only succeeding in chafing his wrists bloody. He bit back a whimper. This couldn't be how he died. Not like this. 

He looked up at Orion, fixing his eyes on some semblance of hope. _Dean,_ he prayed. _Dean._

The knife bit slowly into his skin, and he shut his eyes, going limp. Then the cold touch and the constant chant was suddenly gone, replaced by screams and confusion. Sam looked up, and saw his brother, like some sort of ginormous avenging angel, appear at the edge of the clearing, a gleefully dark smirk on Dean’s face that gave him goosebumps. 

“I believe you have something of mine,” Dean boomed, his voice echoing around the clearing. A single footstep forward created enough force in the ground to knock several witches off-balance, scrambling away from the enormous boot. 

Sam grinned. Stomping time.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: mild references to major gore. Basically, it's Dean versus the witches. ~~Spoiler: Dean wins.~~

Dean hadn't seriously started to worry until two extra hours had passed above the hour he had allowed Sam. Well, one extra hour after. Okay, fine, it was more like half an hour, but cut him some slack. He didn't go looking for him until after the two hours, in any case. 

One of the things that he had noticed since upsizing was that he had a knack for finding things. If he was focusing on it, he could almost map out in his head which direction to go and where to look once he was there. The first time he had followed his sixth sense, he’d found a boombox blasting Metallica, assumed he’d heard it subconsciously, and left it at that. But he’d steadily had to admit to himself that just knowing that there was a lake twenty miles southwest, with a cabin by the lake, and a ball of twine in the bed of the truck parked beside it, without ever having seen it? It was just uncanny. In any case, it was damn useful, and he hadn't looked the gift horse in the mouth since. 

By the time he found the Impala, looking forlorn and alone on the side of the deserted highway, Dean knew something was up. Sammy might not love Baby like he did, but he certainly wouldn’t abandon her. 

When his gaze fell on the pair of boxes in the passenger seat, he grinned. “Sap,” he murmured, recognizing the scent of pie. There was no way of getting it out of there without risking serious injury to his Baby, and as much as he wanted to take her with him, there wasn't really anywhere to put her. She was too big for his pocket. So he gave her a gentle two-fingered stroke across her roof and whispered, “I’ll be back for you. Promise.” 

Lifting himself to his knees, he scanned the area worriedly. Sammy had to be in trouble. Trouble meant a fight. And any trouble that Sam couldn't handle himself meant supernatural trouble. Hence, the witches. 

Dean clenched a fist. _Those fucking bitches._ The coven had to be meeting tonight. He guessed they had recognized a hunter and thought they would get him out of the way. Well, they had another think coming. He smirked grimly and faded into the trees with practiced, silent motions, and went to find the bloody clearing. 

Except...wasn't it here? Right between the cave and the town? Maybe he was too far north. But he changed directions, passed through again, wandered up, down, around, and inside out, and found absolutely nothing. “No,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “No, no, _no._ This isn't right. This can't be happening.” 

He covered nearly twenty square miles in a thorough search, ignoring his growling stomach and the growing darkness. Nothing doing. It was hours before he admitted to himself that he wasn't going to find it if he didn't stop and think for a second. He closed his eyes. He could _feel_ it, he _knew_ it was there. So why was it just...gone? 

He shut his eyes, shutting everything else out, and started walking toward the altar. _Don’t trust your eyes. Just know that it's there. C’mon, you've got to do this. For Sammy._

Suddenly it was like he was walking through a wall of molasses. Something most definitely didn't want him in here. He gritted his teeth and pushed through until the resistance shattered. Then he stopped, taking in the scene before him. 

There were women everywhere, surrounding the sacrificial runes in specific patterns that looked admittedly cool from above. What really wasn't cool was the sight of Sam trussed up like a turkey, gag and all, with a knife pressed to his throat. That sight was what sent Dean forward. 

He wasn't bothering to be careful with his steps, so it didn't surprise him that the first step he took started the witches worrying, sending looks at each other and glancing frantically around. No one caught sight of his enormous silhouette until it was nearly covering them. That was when all eyes flicked toward him, terrified screams echoing out and alerting others to their impending doom. 

Dean smirked. “I believe you have something of mine,” he said, and stepped into the fray. It was pathetically easy to knock them over with just the impact of his weight, kick their tiny asses, stomp them flat. In another mood he might have gotten a kick out of it. Like playing Whack-A-Mole. But he only had eyes for Sam. 

As soon as he was close enough he was kicking the girl with the knife across the clearing and reaching for Sam. His little brother was tied hand and foot so tightly, in tiny little knots that Dean couldn't hope to undo on his own, so he only gave him a quick reassuring look and a _be right back_ before slipping him into his breast pocket and continuing to destroy everything in his path. 

It took maybe thirty minutes to reduce the entire place to a bare, bloodstained nothing, and Dean made his exit as fast as possible. Under no circumstances was Sam to see that. He didn't need to give the poor kid nightmares. 

When he was well on his way back to Baby, he paused, pulling Sam back out, and carefully turned him over in his hands, ignoring the flinch he got in response. Then he gently worked at the ropes on Sam’s wrists with his fingernails until he was loose. Sam managed the rest himself, but Dean couldn't help but notice he was trembling. 

“Dude,” Sam managed at last, voice shaking. 

“Yeah,” Dean said awkwardly. “About that.” 

He held up a hand. “If you're going to apologize for not pulling my ass out of the fire sooner, don't. It was a trap and I should've seen it coming.” 

He shook his head, dropping his eyes. “Not that. The whole Godzilla in Tokyo thing.” _The part where I’m a monster._

“Oh, _that._ ” Sam huffed out a breath that was somewhere between relief, amusement, and unease. “You're a total badass, Dean. I'm not gonna lie, you're scary as all fuck, and I’m glad you're on my side, but Jesus Christ. You need better one-liners.” 

Dean laughed aloud, his fingers curling a little closer around him. Sam sort of leaned into them as an acceptance (he was not cuddling, they were men and men do not cuddle. It was a bro hug or something). Neither of them mentioned changing positions even as Dean kept walking. 

There was a long moment of silence before Sam said, “You still don't get to keep me. If anything, I’m keeping _you._ ” 

“Whatever you say, pint-size,” Dean replied with a ruffle of miniature floofy hair. 

Sam squawked and ducked, and he chuckled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our boys are safe and sound, their girl is gassed up and ready to go, and there's adventure to be had! There's only a few more things left to wrap up. 
> 
> Will Sam ever get his phone back? Is Dean's pie warm at all anymore? How will Baby react to the wanton destruction of witches? And will we ever see the infamous Impala cuddles that Sam so graciously shared with us? Tune in next time for the Epilogue to have these questions and many others answered!


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Sammy thinks about some gross stuff he's seen in his life. And if you're like me, imaginary images are grosser than the real thing. Skip the first paragraph if you're squeamish.

As a hunter, Sam had been exposed to many terrifying things over the years. Rotting corpses brought back to an undead life, werewolves macking on bloody human flesh like it was fried chicken, giant arachnid monsters that laid their eggs in people’s stomachs, death curses that did everything from melting people Indiana Jones style to turning them inside out. All of this was completely overshadowed by the sound a witch made when stepped on by an eighty-foot giant. He was intimately familiar with the crack of bone, the horrible wet sound of flesh tearing, the sound of agonized screams. The stuff of nightmares. But the effortless way Dean could squish a person flat with nothing but his own weight? Fuck, but he was never going to get it out of his head. 

“Man, you got me _pie,_ ” Dean was enthusing, a bounce in his step that Sam could feel all the way up through the fingers against his back. 

Then again, whether Dean could turn him into a splat of blood or not, he was still his brother. And he could still be downright endearing. 

“‘Course I did,” he grinned up at him. “Positive reinforcement. Make sure my new pet giant follows me home.” 

“Fuck you,” Dean said cheerfully. “I saved your teeny little ass. I deserve some respect.” 

Sam was about to say something else, when he suddenly sat up straight, exclaiming, “Oh shit! Bobby!” He turned to Dean. “Gimme my phone back. I've gotta call Bobby and make sure he hasn't sent someone to kill you yet.” 

Dean made a face. “Seriously? After I threatened you, you _still_ code worded? How did I miss that?” He dug in his pocket before pinching a tiny crumb of black plastic with amazingly gentle fingers and holding it out. 

“You didn't,” Sam assured him, taking the phone from him. “Bobby’s just a paranoid bastard. You remember Bobby. We stayed with him the summer I turned nine.” As the fingers withdrew, he flipped open the phone, finding it with a lot more battery than he had expected. 

“Oh! _Bobby!_ Holy shit, you called Bobby and I didn't even notice!” 

Dean’s face was so honestly wide-eyed and childishly amazed that Sam doubled over laughing. 

“What?” Dean asked, looking confused. The expression was so big and over-exaggerated that it set him to laughing again. “What?! What's so funny?” 

“Nothing!” he gasped out. “Just… Y-Your _face_!” 

He couldn't stop laughing even if he tried. And he did try, especially as Dean’s expression went flat, one eyebrow raised in a _really?_ motion. In hindsight, he probably shouldn't have leaned back against the enormous fingers to recover. Because when those fingers closed over him with a blur of tan and sudden darkness, he was nowhere near prepared. 

“Dean! What the hell!” 

Now it was Dean’s turn to chuckle. “Think before you laugh your ass off at me, short stack. I've got a bit of an advantage on you.” 

He sent a kick into what was basically a fleshy wall, before huffing and calling Bobby instead of trying to argue. It kept the ensuing panic from taking over with something else to focus on. 

_”Sam? You better have a damn good explanation for not answering my calls, boy.”_

“Actually, yeah, I kind of do,” he said sheepishly. 

_“Well, that's a first,”_ Bobby muttered, and Sam cracked a smile. 

“You do what?” Dean asked, opening his hand again. 

_”Who’s that?”_ Bobby asked warily. _“You get a boyfriend and not tell me?”_

Sam held up a finger in Dean’s direction, and flushed at Bobby's question. “What? No! It's, um.” He took a deep breath. “So that giant you sent me after? It's Dean.” 

There was a moment of silence before Bobby said dryly, _“Dean Martin? Or your dead brother?”_

Sam winced. “Okay, yeah, it sounds crazy, I know, but —” 

“Hey, Bobby,” Dean said brightly, from directly behind Sam. He yelped, and covered the receiver, whirling on the enormous face. 

“Jesus! Don't _do_ that!” 

The resulting snicker sent warmth spiraling up his arms. It might have been pleasant if it hadn't smelled so damn awful. He put his phone back to his ear. “Yes, that was him. Still as much of a jerk as ever.” 

“Hey, I’m a joy to be around,” Dean protested over top of Bobby’s reply. 

Sam shushed him. “Sorry, Bobby. What was that?” 

_”I said, you damn idjits better not be pulling my leg here.”_ He paused and continued in a lower voice. _”You’re absolutely sure that’s Dean?”_

“He saved my life,” he replied, just as softly. “Silver, iron, holy water. There's not a better test than that.” 

There was a smile in Bobby’s voice when he responded. _”Then there ain't nothing to say except you boys are always welcome at my place. Dunno where the hell I’d keep Dean, except in the junkyard, but so long as he keeps his teeth out of my roof he's good.”_

Sam laughed, half giddy with relief. “Thanks, Bobby. I'll tell him.” 

_”Take care of yourselves.”_

Dean looked expectantly at him. “Well? What’d he say?” 

“He said don't chew on his roof,” Sam relayed with a smirk. 

“But what if I get hungry?” Dean shot back teasingly. “It's not like I can snack on any old house that comes around.” 

He rolled his eyes. “You’ll make do, I’m sure.” 

Dean was already transfixed on a vague shape ahead in the darkness. As Sam watched, swaying slightly with the long gait, the Impala slowly resolved into view. He was set down beside it, and he immediately opened the driver’s door and leaned over the seat, producing the pair of pies. Seeing the green eyes light up made him grin. 

“Hey, toss ‘em in, like a frisbee or something,” Dean said, opening wide. 

The sight of a mouth big enough to hold him inside staggered him for a moment. He stared at the cavernous space, the row of gleaming teeth strong enough to snap him in two, the tongue as long as his entire body. Then he shook himself. “Uh, no? Dude, that's a horrible idea.” 

Dean pouted for a second. “You just have horrible aim. You couldn't even shoot me at point blank range.” 

“You're never going to let that go are you?” Sam sighed as he handed the pies up. 

“Nope!” he said with a grin, before popping each one in his mouth and savoring the flavor with a half-lidded expression of contentment. 

Meanwhile, Sam made sure that everything in the trunk was still there. Mercifully, the witches seemed to have only been interested in him, and not his gear. He wondered if they had even known he was a hunter, or if they had just been looking for a specific kind of person. That train of thought started to make him a little uncomfortable (the pure of soul? Definitely not him), so he shoved it aside, and got into the front to check on his duffel. 

He leaned over the seat, unzipping the bag and rifling through it. It seemed pretty much undisturbed. Good. He was worried he’d have to replace — 

In the space of about two and a half seconds three things happened. The first was that the door slammed behind him, startling him into going for his knife. The second was that everything lurched upward fast enough to make him dizzy, and keep him from going for his knife. The third thing was that an eye three times the size of his head pressed against the open driver’s size window, and looked at him. 

“Holy fucking _shit_!” he screeched, falling backward against the passenger side as everything tilted at once. 

The pupil dilated, to the point that he thought vaguely in the back of his head that he could probably stick his fist into it if he tried. “Sorry,” Dean boomed unrepentantly, and the car’s incline steadied enough for Sam not to feel like he was going to fall into the backseat. 

“I told you not to do that!” he protested, trying to right himself. The movement of the car was nothing so comforting as the way it felt to sit in Dean’s hand, or even his pocket. It was choppy and erratic, feeling more like he was in a rowboat on a stormy sea than in a car in the hands of his giant brother. 

“Don't be a pansy,” Dean said, his one-eyed gaze sweeping over the interior hungrily. 

“Easy for you to say,” he mumbled, but he let Dean inspect the Impala in silence. The eye followed the creases of the leather, the shape of the dash, traced the line of the steering wheel lovingly, and fell on Sam again, who tensed under the scrutiny. “Are you done?” he asked. He would have crossed his arms if he hadn't been busy holding on for dear life. 

“Bobby lives in Sioux Falls, right?” Dean asked instead, lashes the length of Sam’s forearm brushing the side of the car with an audible feathery sound. 

Sam nodded. “Yeah, why?” He froze as the eye disappeared. “Wait, hold up! You aren't —” But he interrupted himself with a yelp as everything moved again. He braced himself against the dash. “Dean!” 

His damn ginormous big brother had the gall to snigger. “Don't worry, Sammy. I gotcha.” 

“Isn't that cause to worry?” he shot back. But after a few moments the up-down feeling evened out, and he chanced a glance out the window. Dean’s patchwork shirt greeted him, with the buttons that he was pretty sure came from the shirt he’d been wearing the day he was cursed. He carefully scooted to the other side, hands on the wheel as he looked out over the countryside, rolled out like a dark carpet in the twilight, just for him. There were hands on either side of the Impala, tree-trunk arms stretching over and around, but instead of feeling intimidated or trapped, he felt safe. 

Yeah, Dean had him, and it felt more right than things had for years. 

“Go to sleep, Sammy,” Dean said from above, vibrating through the metal with a soothing purr-like feeling. 

And Sam did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, guys. The final piece of the first part of Brothers Forgotten! Not only is this my first full length Gt story, it's my first full length Spn story, my first full length published fic, and my first time entering any sort of writing contest! I'm very proud of myself on this, and I hope you've enjoyed the ride as much as I have!! 
> 
> The sequel **Big Changes** is in the works. In the meantime, I will be writing and posting related stories, taking place in AUs to Brothers Forgotten. Because I can't leave well enough alone. 
> 
> Check me out on tumblr at theskylarksings.tumblr.com for randomness and updates to any and all upcoming stories. :)
> 
> Thanks again for all the support! <3


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